


Bluebell and Birch

by torestoreamends



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torestoreamends/pseuds/torestoreamends
Summary: Albus and James find a ramshackle shed in the orchard at the bottom of the garden while they're playing one day. With Harry's help, Albus rebuilds it, and over the years it becomes a hiding place, a sanctuary, a place for tears and romance, and ultimately his favourite place in the world.





	Bluebell and Birch

**Author's Note:**

> This is a belated birthday present for my friend Hester. Over the summer she asked Theo where he thinks Albus runs to after the blanket scene, and he told her about Albus's shed – a place where he can hide and feel safe when things are too much at home. This is based on that idea. It's the saga of the shed.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Abradystrix.

Albus’s earliest memory of the shed is of it being a ramshackle wooden hut, surrounded by overgrown grass, full of cobwebs and broken bits of metal contraptions left behind by the Muggle who owned the house before they did. He and James discovered it one day while they were playing in the orchard, nestled between a gnarled old apple tree and the bit of crumbling stone wall that separates their land from the sheep field next door. 

It was locked when they found it. James wanted to pick the lock, but before he got the chance to find a suitable implement, the strength of Albus’s curiosity had already made the padlock click and fall into the grass. 

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Albus said, looking down at the tiny glimpse of rust-browned lock that can be seen among the jungle of undergrowth. He actually felt a bit proud of himself. It wasn’t often that he did accidental magic, and every time he did it gave him a secret thrill of joy. 

“You did do it though.” James patted him on the shoulder as he brushed past and gave the door a shove. “Come on. I want to go inside.”

It took both of them to get the door open; it was so stiff. The boards making it up were bent and warped by years of damp. It looked like the paint had flaked off, leaving only the bare, unprotected wood behind, and the odd rusty nail sticking out. 

Inside it smelled of musty damp. There were mushrooms growing in one corner, little white ones peeking through a gap between floor and wall and ground. The leaves that had blown in through the broken windows were now a mulch on the floor. As James stepped through the door the whole structure creaked and cracked. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t go in,” Albus whispered, without knowing why he was whispering. “It might be dangerous.”

“It’s fine,” James replied. “Look.” He stomped his foot on the floor, which buckled beneath him, making him grab at the door frame. When he was sure it wasn’t going to completely collapse he turned to Albus and gave him a bright smile. “See? Come on Al.”

Albus tiptoed over the threshold, trying to put as little weight on the floor as he could, and avoiding James’s hole. As he stepped further into the tiny space a pair of field mice came skittering out of nowhere, making him jump.  He jumped back, straight into James, who shoved him off.

“Ow, you stood on my toe.”

“Sorry!” Albus gasped. “They made me jump. This place is creepy.”

“It is a bit,” James agreed. He ran his fingers over the fractured plastic handle of something Albus thought might be a lawn mower. “It’s like a graveyard for Muggle gardening stuff. We should bring granddad here.”

“I think we should tell Mum and Dad it’s here,” Albus murmured, watching a fat black spider making improvements to its web. It seemed oblivious to their presence, focused on the delicate spin of silk, which shone gold in the dappled sunlight streaming diffuse and soft through the dusty window. 

“We could make it a den,” James suggested. “Or a broom shed!” His eyes went bright and his gaze more distant, clearly imagining the glory of this room stuffed with broomsticks and Quidditch gear. 

Albus pulled a face. “No. We already have a broom shed. I’m going to tell Dad about it, then we can decide what we do. It can’t be a den with holes in the floor and mushrooms growing in it.”

James shrugged. “Okay. Race you back to the house to tell Dad.”

 

They did decide to make the shed into a den. 

“But not just a den for you, James,” Ginny said, giving James a significant look. “You have to let Albus and Lily play there too.”

James pouted. “Fine. It can be a boring den. I don’t mind.”

It didn’t take long to clean out with magic. They spent a couple of hours scrubbing it clean, or rather Harry did. James did laps of the orchard on his broom, dropping by every half an hour to check on progress, and Albus sat cross-legged in the grass and watched his dad work. Lily was too young to be interested in the redevelopment project, so she was inside with Ginny. 

Once everything was stripped clean, Harry started rebuilding, with Albus as his assistant. They replaced the rotten boards, completely redid the floor and roof, and Harry showed Albus how to fix things together the Muggle way, only instead of using a hammer to push the nails home, they used magic instead. 

The most fun bit, not that any of it wasn’t fun, was painting. Once the shed was all rebuilt and water tight, and the new windows had been put in place, gleaming with polished perfection, they went to a shop in Diagon Alley to pick out the colours for the inside of their new den. James wanted bright crimson and gold, because of course he did. Albus wanted more muted shades, pale blue maybe, or green. In the end they compromised and went for a cheerful sunshine yellow. 

Albus did most of the painting, at least of the bits he could reach. It was actually quite fun, sweeping the brush down the lines of the boards to create a perfect wash of colour. Watching the inside of the shed slowly transform from the silver of plain birch boards to buttercup yellow is still one of his favourite memories. When he could no longer reach to paint anymore he sat on the floor and watched Harry do it, and when they got to the ceiling, Harry lifted him up so he could paint that too. 

It was really nice, spending time just Albus and Harry. Albus didn’t get to spend enough time with his dad, because he worked so much, so that weekend was precious to him. At the end when he could look around at the drying paint, and the little hut they’d made together, he felt a warm glow of happiness. They did this together. It was theirs. Their memory. Their place. 

“Are you happy?” Harry asked, seeing Albus’s smile. 

Albus nodded, unable to speak against all the joy welling up inside him.

“Good.” Harry ruffled his hair with a paint spattered hand. “Come on. We can come back once it’s dry.”

Albus couldn’t stay away. He spent all that evening sitting on the doorstep, staring out at the spot in the orchard where he knew the shed was. Only when it was time for bed did he leave, and even then he couldn’t sleep. The next morning he was up with the sun, gathering all the things he wanted to take to the shed: a couple of blankets, cushions, a lamp, a Mimbulus Mimbletonia, and a regular Muggle cactus. By the time his parents came downstairs he was sitting by the back door, surrounded by a heap of stuff, desperate to be allowed to get going. 

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other. 

“Come on then,” Harry said. “Do you need help with any of this stuff?”

They carried it together, lugging it across the dewy grass that sparkled, crystalline in the pale heather dawn light. 

The shed was cast in shadow as they approached, nestled in the pools of darkness beneath the trees. They hadn’t painted the outside, just cast an Imperturbable Charm to preserve the wood, so It was still protected while maintaining the silver sheen of the boards. Harry had put a spell on the door too, so it only opened when any of the Potters touched it. Albus had tested it several times the day before, pressing his palm to the door and waiting for it to click open, but this time it was for real, which made it all the more thrilling. 

The door swung inwards, and he stared in at the room. It was bright and airy, all the mushrooms and spiders and rotten boards long gone. The smell of fresh paint and wood chips floated out and he inhaled, closing his eyes. It was solace and peace and home. 

Dust motes danced in the rising sun as they stepped inside and started decorating. Albus arranged the blankets and cushions on the floor, placed the cactus and Mimbletonia on the window ledge, and set the lamp down in one corner. Harry drew his wand and started draping little beads of light across the walls, making the place even brighter and more welcoming. Finally he cast a bit of bluebell flame into the lamp, and Albus sat down in the middle of his new den, looking around. 

“I like it,” he said. “I like it better now it’s not all mouldy anymore.”

“It’s not about to collapse either,” Harry said, resting a hand against one of the walls and inspecting the paint. “Will you be happy out here?”

Albus nodded. “Definitely. As long as James doesn’t visit too much.”

Harry laughed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “You might have to compromise on that. It is meant to be a den for both of you, and Lily.”

“Lily can come,” Albus said. “And I might let James. If he’s very nice.”

“I’ll have a word with him,” Harry promised. “Now, do you want some breakfast?”

Albus thought about that. “Can I bring it back here to eat?”

“Of course,” Harry said, putting a hand on Albus’s shoulder. “It’s yours now.”

 

It didn’t take James long to get bored of the shed. He loved it for that first summer, and he would sometimes hang out there afterwards. For a while Albus couldn’t go in there because James was always there with Rose and the other Weasleys. Even Teddy came to visit at one point. But James always preferred being outdoors. He liked running around in the orchard, or whacking Bludgers at people. He didn’t go in for being cooped up inside or sitting quietly in the shade, so the novelty of the den wore off after a while. 

But Albus didn’t get bored of it. He loved having somewhere to hide from the chaos and noise of his family. He liked being able to disappear and not be bothered for hours, until his mum came to fetch him for dinner. The shed became his favourite place to be, and then it gradually became the only place he wanted to be.

It started around the time that James went to Hogwarts. Even though there was one less person in the house, it seemed as though, gradually, everyone had less time for Albus. There were letters to write to James every week, and he became all anyone ever talked about: his classes, his Quidditch, his detentions. Albus was doing well with his basic schooling, so Ginny’s attention was focused more on making sure Lily was up to scratch. Harry became busier at work, thanks to a swell in dark activity, and gone were the days when he’d come home and read Albus a bedtime story, or lift him up so he could paint the ceiling of a shed. 

Albus started going to the shed because he was lonely, and he hoped that if he was the one inflicting the loneliness on himself it wouldn’t hurt so much. But it still did. 

One rainy spring afternoon, just after Albus’s eleventh birthday, when his parents were fretting about James’s exams, and Lily was struggling to memorise her times tables, Albus slipped out of the house and went to the shed, even though it was a weekday and he wasn’t meant to go there on weekdays. 

The weather outside was mild, but the shed was cold. There was no sunshine, just murky grey, so the shed was dingy. Albus uncovered the bluebell flames, the same ones his dad had cast for him all those years ago, and wrapped a blanket round his shoulders for warmth. He huddled up in the corner, shivering, curling as close to the jar of flames as he could get, and feeling entirely lost. 

Sometimes, on days like that he might as well have been invisible. No one really saw him, even when he was standing right in front of them. There was always something or someone more important than him. They probably wouldn’t even notice he’d gone. 

He rubbed his hands together over the bluebell flames, trying to get some warmth into them, but he felt cold all over. And as he lay there in the dim blue glow, he began to worry, the way he‘d begun to do when he was alone with no one to fill the silence. 

He worried about the impending doom of Hogwarts, and how well James was doing, and whether he’d ever be able to live up to expectations. He worried about his schoolwork, whether he’d managed to learn enough – what if he turned up on the 1st of September in a few months’ time and everyone knew things he didn’t? He worried about his dad, because Harry used to have all the time in the world for him but that seemed to have changed. Maybe his dad didn’t really love him anymore. What if his family had got bored of him?

And on and on. Black doubts niggling away about friendship and family and school, making him feel grey inside, cutting him off from the world, until all he could do was hug his knees and rock and try not to cry. 

He must have worried himself to sleep at some point, because next thing he knew a door banged open nearby and he jumped awake, staring wildly into the darkness for the source of the noise. As he tried to get his bearings, a sudden blinding light shone right into his face, and he shrank back, terrified, squeezing his eyes shut and ducking his head to make the painful brightness stop. 

“Albus!” Someone shrieked his name, and then there were hands on him, holding his arms, and then dragging him into a hug. “Harry, he’s here. I’ve found him.”

He realised his mum was holding him, and that she was very warm and comfortable, and he hugged her tight in return without really knowing why. All he knew was that he wanted a hug, and that hers were better than anyone else’s. 

After several long seconds she pulled back, and he saw that she was clutching her wand and wearing a cloak over her pyjamas. Her face was pale and desperate with fear. 

“What happened?” He asked, bleary and confused with sleep.

“We thought you’d disappeared,” she said, squeezing his shoulders and patting at his arms like she was trying to convince herself he was real and solid. “We couldn’t find you, and-“ she shook her head and pulled him into another hug, stroking his hair. “ _Albus_. You’re freezing cold. Why are you out here? How long have you been here?”

Albus’s stomach dropped like lead and he released his arms from around here. “I came here after lunch,” he murmured. “I didn’t think you’d notice, if I just- I think I fell asleep.”

“Since lunch,” she breathed, pulling back to look at him. “But-“ She didn’t get chance to finish, because the next second Harry came flying into the shed, hair a mess, glasses askew, looking wild. He flung himself on the ground and pulled Albus into his arms. It was the first time he’d hugged Albus in a year, and although it should have felt good it made Albus feel sick, because he knew it was the middle of the night. They hadn’t noticed he was missing all afternoon, or at dinner, maybe they hadn’t even noticed until they came to check on him before they went to bed. 

He was invisible. 

“We’ve been looking for you for hours,” Harry said. “We were worried sick! Don’t you dare do this again.” He pulled back from the hug and looked at Albus, expression turning to thunder. “Do you hear me, Albus? You’ll stay in the house. You’re not to come out here without permission ever again, do you understand?”

Albus gave a tiny nod. “Yes,” he whispered. 

“Good. Now get back inside. It’s late and we all need to sleep.”

_So you can go to work tomorrow_ , Albus thought. _Where you’ll forget all about me._

His mum kept an arm round him as they went back to the house. She tucked him up in bed and gave him another hug, while his dad hovered in the doorway, still storming with anger and upset, and not saying a word. 

 

It was hell being banned from the shed, and that was before James came home for the holidays. Suddenly the house was full of noise and chaos. He’d forgotten since Christmas just how loud James was. It was physically painful to hear him yelling to Ginny in the kitchen that yes, he would like a cup of tea, thanks, or to hear him screeching as he play fought with Lily on the stairs, or to hear him crowing and singing with glee after scoring a hat trick during a Quidditch game in the orchard. 

Without the shed to escape to, Albus hid in his room and feverishly read his new spell books, trying and failing to block out the noise, and trying and failing to remember practical tips about wandwork and potion making. 

“Al is worrying again!” James yelled one afternoon in July as he burst into Albus’s room uninvited, flopped down on the bed, and grabbed Albus into a headlock that didn’t feel anything like a hug.

It hurt. Tears flooded Albus’s eyes and he felt as if he was being choked. He tried to fight his brother off, but James was two years older and an athlete, so he was bigger, heavier, and used to fighting with kids twice his size. It was futile, so Albus gave up and lay there, James on top of him and the book crumpled beneath him. 

“You need to stop worrying, Al,” James said, digging his knuckles into Albus’s scalp. “Everything’s fine. Of course it is, I’m your brother.”

Albus squirmed and pressed his fingers into the mattress, trying to alleviate some of the pain by clawing it out. It didn’t work, and his wriggling just made James sit harder on top of him. Albus gasped in a breath. 

“James,” he groaned. “Get... off... me...”

“Aww, But I’m giving you a hug!” James said, squeezing him tighter.

Albus started struggling again, trying to kick his brother off, and as he did he heard the pages of the book beneath him tear. That was the final straw.

“Get the fuck off my bed!” He yelled, anger rising red inside him and boiling over. He kicked James as hard as he could in the shin, and James yelped and let go, just as Ginny came charging into the room. 

“What in Merlin’s name is going on in here?”

“He kicked me!” James said, rubbing his shin and glaring at Albus. “And he swore.”

Albus sat up and pulled his ruined book out from beneath James. He was too angry to bother defending himself, so he just started inspecting the damage, flipping through pages and trying to straighten them out. 

Their mum took in the scene for a moment before sighing. “James, go downstairs and help your dad with dinner. No, don’t bother arguing, just go.”

James pouted and gave Albus one last punch on the arm. “See you, Al.” Then he sloped out of the room and banged his way down the stairs, while Ginny came and perched on the edge of Albus’s bed. 

“You shouldn’t talk to your brother like that,” she said. 

He ignored her and she sighed. 

“Are you okay?” She asked gently. 

“Fine,” Albus lied, not looking at her and leaning across to grab some Spell-o-tape for his book. He flattened the pages down and tried to make them line up properly, but the book was all creased and ruined, making it nearly impossible. 

“I know he was hurting you,” his mum said. She shifted down the bed, closer to Albus, who ripped off a bit of tape and started sticking the pages back together. “I’m going to talk to him later,” she said. “He shouldn’t just walk into your room like that. This is your space. He has to learn to respect that.”

“I had a space he wouldn’t go in,” Albus muttered, hoping he was speaking too quietly for her to hear. “But I’m not allowed to go there anymore.” His voice cracked as he said it, and a tear dribbled down his cheek, splashing onto the page of his book. Annoyed at himself, he brushed his sleeve across his cheek and sniffed. 

“Albus,” his mum murmured. She reached out to try and hug him, but he dodged away, right down to the other end of his bed, and started patting at the stupid, uneven, wrinkled bit of tape. “Would that help?” She asked. “If you could go back to the shed? I know it gets loud and busy in this house. It can get a bit much, can’t it?”

He half shrugged, and started picking at the tape, trying to even it out. The page wasn’t straight, the words didn’t quite line up right. It was unreadable, unusable, useless, and it was all James’s fault for ruining it. 

Frustration bubbled up inside him and he threw the book away from himself, so it tumbled onto the floor and landed pages down, while he buried his face in his hands and started to sob. 

“It’s shit. I hate it.” He didn’t know if he was talking about the book or the noise in the house or his whole life, but whatever it was, his mum recognised that it wasn’t good because she didn’t lecture him for his language. Instead she hugged him, and he didn’t resist. He curled into her arms and buried his face in her shoulder while she held him. 

“It’s alright,” she whispered in his ear. “We can fix it. I promise.” And he didn’t know which thing she was talking about either, but he thought it might be the book, because how could they possibly fix everything else? 

He clung to her and cried until all his tears dried up and he started to feel exhausted and headachy, and his face hurt from the tears. Then he pulled away and wiped his nose, while she stooped down to pick up the book. She inspected the damage for a moment before looking up at him. 

“I’m going to talk to your dad,” she said. “About the shed. I know he was worried that time, but as long as we know where you’ve gone I don’t see why you shouldn’t spend time out there.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I don’t like seeing you unhappy like this,” she said. 

“No,” he murmured, picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans. He hated feeling unhappy like this too, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. 

“Maybe the shed will help,” she said. She looked at him for a moment, waiting for a response, then she sighed and drew her wand. She tapped it on the edge of the pages, and all the crinkles melted from the book, and the tears sealed up, so when she handed it back to him it was good as new, apart from the bit of Spell-o-tape sticking out of the middle where he hadn’t quite cut it to size. 

He took the book and turned it over in his hands, wishing that fixing himself could be that easy. But there’s no spell you can cast to cure loneliness, or make someone stop feeling invisible and overwhelmed. 

“Thanks, Mum,” he murmured, hugging the book to his chest. 

She smiled and kissed the top of his head. “Any time,” she said. “Now, dinner should be nearly ready. Get your hands washed and I’ll see you downstairs.”

 

The first time Albus spent the night in the shed was the next summer. It was a bright, warm day, and he stayed out watching the sunset. He’d asked his mum if he could and she’d said yes. By the time the sun was finally gone, leaving behind fading pastel streaks of gold and blue and green, the lights were out in the house and everything was quiet. 

Albus hugged his knees and looked up at the dark window of his bedroom. He knew he should go back inside and sleep, but it was peaceful out here. The warm summer breeze ruffled his hair and cooled the sticky night air. Being out here under a blanket was better than being in a bed in the attic of a hot house. And out here he could watch the fairies flitter back and forth across the garden, glowing like embers of firelight. 

He felt freer in the garden, away from his family, away from everything that was difficult about life. The only thing he wished was that Scorpius could be here. 

A small pang of loneliness, the same loneliness he’d felt last year before he started at Hogwarts, made his heart ache, and he rested his chin on his knees. It _would_ be nice to bring Scorpius here. It would also be nice to stay out here on the edge of the wilderness and not have to go inside, with the noise and the walls and the knowledge that he didn’t fit in with his family. It would be nice to stay in this place where he could be completely himself. 

It was silent. The household was sleeping. His parents knew where he was. If everyone was already asleep no one would miss him. He could just stay here. So he did. 

He lay on his back on a bed of cushions and stared up at the ceiling he’d painted all those years ago. Silver moonlight streamed through the window. Crickets chirped in the garden, and a gnome giggled as it rushed through the long grass outside. The breeze stirred the leaves in the orchard. He felt safe. He felt at home. He felt free. 

Sleep took him, gentle and peaceful, and although he knew his back would ache from sleeping on the floor, and he’d be woken far too early by the bright morning light, he didn’t care. This was the one place in the world that he felt good enough for. It wasn’t Hogwarts, it wasn’t his parents’ house, it was here. In his shed. And for that night everything was as perfect as it could be. 

He started sleeping in the shed a lot over the summer and no one noticed. James made noticing anything other than himself impossible. There was this strange divide inside him, between the loneliness of being overlooked by his family, and the knowledge that he’d come to terms with it and was making the best of a miserable situation. He didn’t really feel sad in those days, just numb and quietly at peace. 

“I haven’t seen much of you this holiday,” Ginny said on the last day of the holidays, when Albus was sitting on the back step of the house watching her prune the Flutterby Bush – he wasn’t in the orchard because James was playing Quidditch and more than once already Albus had been almost killed by a stray Bludger flying through the window of his shed. “Have you had fun?”

Albus didn’t think that fun was quite the right word, so he shrugged. “It’s been okay.” _Better than school_ , he thought. 

“Are you looking forward to going back to school?” His mum asked, glancing up from the bush and wiping her forehead on the back of her gardening gloves. 

“I miss Scorpius,” Albus said. 

“Maybe he can come and stay next summer,” his mum said. 

Albus closed his book and looked at her, trying to suppress his excitement at that prospect. “Do you think?”

His mum smiled and nodded. “I don’t see why not. Why don’t you invite him?”

Albus’s grin broke across his face like dawn in a summer sky. “Okay! I will.”

 

Owls had long since learned that if they wanted to deliver a letter to Albus, they had to come to the shed. The people who wrote to him had worked that out too. His Hogwarts letters were addressed there, as were the letters Scorpius sent him, as were the few magazines and correspondences he got from the Wizarding Library in London, the Esteemed Guild of Potioneers, and the couple of other societies and things he was a junior member of. He plastered the walls of the shed with those letters, and a couple of photos, and every time he got new ones, especially from Scorpius, he felt the brief thrill of excitement that came with being acknowledged. 

The summer after second year he didn’t get any letters. At least, he didn’t get any letters from Scorpius, and those were the ones that counted. Even though Scorpius had immediately said yes to Albus’s invitation to come and visit, the likelihood of him actually coming grew slimmer every single day, and Albus got more and more miserable. The only thing he’d been looking to about this summer was Scorpius coming to stay, and he didn’t even have that anymore. He had nothing and no one, and he’d never felt so lonely. 

At the beginning of July, his mum came to visit him in the shed, something she hadn’t done for a long time. She knocked on the open door and hovered outside, looking at him huddled up in the corner, draped in his blanket and staring back at her. 

“I wanted to come and see if you were alright,” she said slowly, taking in the sight of him, and he could tell from her face that she already had her answer. “You haven’t been inside for a while. I was wondering if you’d like to eat with us tonight, instead of out here on your own.”

Albus picked at the corner of his blanket. “I don’t know,” he murmured. 

His mum nudged the door open a bit more. “Can I come in?” She asked. 

Albus looked at her for several seconds, then he nodded. He missed her. Of everyone in the house she was the one he most wanted to spend time with. Her and Lily. He missed talking to them. 

His mum stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her. She came over and sat on one of the cushions near Albus, her skirt splaying out around her. “Is there anything I can do?” She asked. “I still don’t even know what’s bothering you. But I can tell there’s something, and you can talk to me, Albus. You can tell me anything. I hope you know that.”

Albus thought about everything that was buzzing round inside his head, in a dark cloud that obscured the rest of the world and left him trapped in himself. He thought about exploding potions, and failed spells, and people laughing and tripping him in the corridors, and broomsticks that would never obey him, and the bright emerald green that felt right on his body but left him so far estranged from everything he’d ever been taught to value. Putting any of it into words was impossible, so he didn’t try.

“Scorpius hasn’t written to me all summer,” he said instead. He stared down at his hands and swallowed at the first prickle of tears in his eyes and throat. “I don’t... I don’t get it. We were fine at school. He said he’d come and stay. He said he’d write to me every day, and... he hasn’t.” He looked up at his mum and he could barely see her through the blur of tears that suddenly flooded his eyes. “What if he’s forgotten about me? What if he doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore. What if I’m- I’m not good enough for him either?” 

And with that he broke. He buried his face in his knees and started sobbing. All he ever seemed to do in front of his mum these days was cry, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about her presence that let him express his emotions the way he couldn’t in front of anyone else. 

“Sweetheart,” she whispered. “Come here.” She sat beside him and gathered him in close, holding him and rocking him in her arms while he cried. It was like he was young again, letting her comfort him when the world felt like it was falling apart. Back then it was normally because James had stolen his paints and wouldn’t give them back, or because he’d fallen in the yard and hurt his knee. Doubting whether anyone in the world, including his best friend, cared about him was a lot bigger than that, but his mum’s hugs could heal anything. 

“I-I miss him,” Albus gasped between sobs. “I wanted to see him. What if I made him unhappy?”

“I’m sure you haven’t done anything,” Ginny said, stroking his hair and squeezing him hard. “He might just be busy. Maybe he’s gone on holiday, or-“ she hesitated. “It could be that he’s busy taking care of his mum. It won’t be your fault, Albus. And it won’t be his either. I know it hurts, I know you’re upset, but I doubt either of you are to blame.”

Albus tried to swallow back his tears and calm down. He gulped in several breaths as he hugged his mum as hard as he could. “What if he forgets me?” He asked. 

Ginny tutted and ruffled his hair. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. Of course he won’t forget you. You’re his best friend.“

“Are you sure?”

She brushed her fingers through his hair and looked down at him. “Completely positive,” she said. She studied him for a moment, then she brushed the tears off his cheeks with her thumb. “Will you come in for dinner?” She asked. “It must get lonely out here, and we miss you inside.” She smiled, expression going soft and crinkly round her eyes. “I miss my voice of calm. You’re the perfect antidote to James. It’s far too noisy without you.”

“I don’t like the noise either,” Albus sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

His mum handed him a tissue from one of the pockets on her skirt. “I’m making dinner tonight,” she said. “Would you like to help me? We’ll ban the others from the kitchen so it’ll be nice and quiet. Just the two of us.”

Albus thought about that for a moment before nodding. “I’d like that.”

He didn’t get a letter from Scorpius that summer – he forgave Scorpius for that the second he found out about his mum – but he did eat with his family every evening until the first of September. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it might be. 

 

He fled. His feet clattered on the stairs and tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. He was numb to everything apart from the words echoing round and round inside his head. “Well there are times I wish you weren’t my son.” No one obstructed his path, not James or Lily or his mum, and his dad had been left far behind, still standing in the middle of the room stammering empty, meaningless apologies. 

He flung open the front door and sprinted headlong into the beautiful, late summer evening. Warm, sweet air filtered into his lungs, and he could smell honeysuckle and almost taste the tang of freshly mown grass. Loose gravel crunched under his feet as he ran, until it turned to the soft squish of dew-dampened grass. The chickens scattered in front of him, squawking and squabbling, but it wasn’t long until he was past them, past everything, halfway across the garden with only his own tearful snatches of breath and his heart pounding in his ears. 

The setting sun behind him lit the whole world blood red, but the shadows of the orchard were deep silver-grey, and the branches welcomed him in. He was on the edge of his world, as far as he could run away without really running, and he was safe here. 

He pressed his palm to the shed door and it swung open to let him in. He stepped into the cool, dark interior and lit his wand, letting the pale light flood into every corner. It glowed off the sunshine yellow walls, and the room felt bright and cheerful. 

Albus had painted these walls with his dad, many years ago. That was a beautiful time, sunlit, carefree, happy. He’d felt special, to be able to build something so amazing with his dad’s help. It was a proud moment, walking in here for the first time and looking at the space they’d made together. 

And now what? Now he knew for certain that things had changed, just like he always suspected. He was too far removed from the others, too Slytherin, too quiet, too useless at magic. He wasn’t a hero or a star. He wasn’t getting good grades. He was a mess. A useless mess, and he barely deserved to be called a Potter. 

He slumped against the back wall of the shed and slid to the ground, staring out of the open door at the conflagration of the sunset. That was what every interaction with his dad felt like: fire, burning hot, sparks ready to take hold at any moment and flare up. It was always dangerous, never certain. Long gone were the days when love flowed easily in both directions. Clearly there was none of that anymore.

The jar of bluebell flames was sitting just a foot away, covered, the way he always kept it when he wasn’t in the shed. He leaned across and pulled it towards him; uncapped it, letting blue tinge the pale wandlight that already flooded the room.

Those flames were so gentle, so harmless, but he knew he could fan them, make them spread. He held his hand over the top of the jar, feeling the warmth on his skin, then he dipped his wand in and scooped up a bit of the flame, so it crackled and flickered on his wand tip. It would have been so easy to take those flames that his dad gave him and set this place alight. He could have burned the whole thing to ashes, erasing all the painful memories of a time when his dad seemed to care for him, when he was part of this family. 

But even with his heart lying in shattered pieces, he couldn’t do that. Despite the cruel irony that his dad helped him create his refuge and became the one chasing him to it, losing this place was not an option. He’d already lost enough. 

_Just one more night_ , he reminded himself. One more night and then back to Hogwarts. The next day at 11am he would escape, because at that point even going back to school was an escape. 

Or he could try something else. He could change everything. He could prove to his dad that he was more than useless, that he was worth something. He could prove it to the world. 

His dad didn’t care. His dad didn’t love. His dad didn’t feel remorse and sadness. But Albus did. He knew exactly what it was like to be the spare. He knew that pain, a pain that might have been made bearable with just a little bit of love. If he could bring that love to someone else then wouldn’t that be a worthwhile thing? That would be something to pay attention to. 

He let the bluebell flames pour back into the jar and set his wand down on the floor, casting the corners of the shed into deep shadow. Outside the sky was going dark and the sun had gone. It was getting chilly, so he pulled the blanket over his knees and huddled up. 

Of all the nights he’d spent in this shed over the years, this would be the worst. But there would be hope in the morning. In the morning he would start fixing everything. 

 

“And this is my shed,” Albus said, gesturing at it as he led Scorpius towards the orchard. 

“Your shed,” Scorpius said, with that dubious tone that meant to he was trying and failing to reserve his judgement. 

Albus nudged him. “Yes, my shed. It’s like a den. It’s quiet. You’ll like it.”

“Does it have books in it?” Scorpius asked. 

“It can do if you want,” Albus said, poking him in the back to get him moving. “Bring some next time you come.”

“Next time,” Scorpius said, like he was taking the words as a promise. 

Albus grinned. “Next time.” He grabbed hold of Scorpius’s sleeve and started dragging him across the grass. It had been too long, far too long, since he’d visited the shed. That summer had been busy, between visits to the Manor, forced (and unforced) bonding activities with his dad, and Potions projects to try and prepare for his O.W.L.s. There hadn’t been time to even think about hiding away, and even if he had had time, he wouldn’t have wanted to do it. 

But now Scorpius was here, Scorpius was visiting him at home for the first time. The only place they could possibly go where no one would bother them was the shed, and Albus was quite keen that they wouldn’t be bothered – spending time with Scorpius was too nice to be wasted by irritating interruptions. 

“Is this it?” Scorpius asked, walking up to the undecorated door and looking at it. “I was expecting something...” he looked at Albus. “I think I was expecting it to be green.” He reached out and gave the door a push. “Is it locked?”

Albus stepped up next to him and nudged him out of the way. “Why green? And yes it is. You have to be a Potter to open it.”

“I imagined it might be the colour of your-“ Scorpius swallowed and gave a little shrug, looking away from Albus. “Green is one of your favourite colours, and you’re a Slytherin.”

“I like it being plain on the outside,” Albus said, pressing his palm to the door so it swung open. 

“Is it green inside at least?” Scorpius asked, peering in. “No, it’s yellow. It’s quite cheerful!” He stepped inside and looked around, eyes bright. “There aren’t any books. Oh, but there are plants.” He went over to the window ledge and started stroking the leaves of Albus’s Mimbulus Mimbletonia, while Albus leaned in the doorway and watched him, unable to keep the smile off his face. 

“This is the shed,” he said. “It’s not much exactly, but it’s okay. I like it.”

Scorpius turned way from the plants and looked around. The dappled sunshine flooding through the window made his hair glow silver, and his eyes sparkle like stars. Sometimes seeing him like that – bright, attentive, glowing – took Albus’s breath away, although he could never quite explain why. 

“I like it too,” Scorpius said. He looked at Albus with a smile that made all of Albus’s words dry up in his mouth. “It’s very you. Cosy and tidy and bright. It’s... congenial.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Albus said, because it was all he could get out. 

“It’s good,” Scorpius said. “It’s a nice thing.”

Albus nodded. “Good to know.”

From the days when the shed was home to his loneliness and pain – a hiding place, tear-stained, where he was estranged from the whole world – over that summer and the one after it became the opposite. It became a place of slow, gentle revelations and whispered confessions. A place to bare the soul. There were tentative touches, featherlight kisses on sunlight summer days. It was heady and bright, and Albus forgot what it felt like to be lonely, because he wasn’t anymore, not even a little bit. 

He realised that for the first time at twilight one night, when they were sitting on the step up to the shed door and watching the fairies flitter from bush to bush across the lawn, chattering and arguing. He looked down at his and Scorpius’s interlinked hands, and it hit him in a sudden burst of warmth and joy that this was real, he and Scorpius were together, and he would never be alone again.

He brushed the back of a hand across his watering eyes, sniffed, and put his head on Scorpius’s shoulder, squeezing his hand tighter. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “Have I mentioned that before.”

A smile broke across Scorpius’s face. “Maybe,” he said, drawing the word out in joking uncertainty. “But you should say it more. Just to make sure.”

“I do,” Albus said, looking up at him. “A lot. And I’m glad you’re here.”

Scorpius looked down at him. “I- are you crying?”

Albus shook his head and brushed away his tears, giving a shaky laugh. “No.”

“You’re such a liar,” Scorpius laughed. “Look at you.” He dropped Albus’s hand and pulled him into a tight hug instead. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. I love you too.”

Albus squeezed him as hard as he could. “I know. I’m happy.” He sniffed and smiled, wiping his eyes again. “Happy tears.”

Scorpius ruffled his hair. “I’m happy that you’re happy. Even if you are dripping tears on me.”

Albus sat up and immediately spotted the tear stains on Scorpius’s top. “Sorry,” he said, trying to mop himself up. “Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“You don’t have to,” Scorpius said, rubbing his arm. 

“I can’t see the fairies,” Albus said. “Just a lot of tears. I can’t see you either.”

“Oh,” Scorpius said, wrapping an arm round his shoulders. “Well that really is a loss.”

 

The last evening before seventh year was weird. Albus felt restless and unsettled. There was an edge of emotion that he couldn’t quite get rid of, and he didn’t really know what to do with himself. Normally he’d sit still and read a book to calm himself down, but that night he couldn’t concentrate. It had been a long time since he’d needed to go to the shed because he couldn’t handle being in the house, but that night he did. 

He finished packing his trunk after dinner and snuck out across the yard towards the orchard. The shed was dark when he arrived. The sun wasn’t really set yet, but the trees were heavy with leaves, and they’d been growing recently, so they blocked out the last of the evening light. When he got inside he trailed beads of light across the walls, making the butter yellow walls shine like the sun, then he sat down and buried his face in his knees and tried to work through every one of the thoughts and worries buzzing round and round in his head. 

He felt a similar pressure then to the one he’d felt when he was 11 years old and waiting to start at Hogwarts. The pressure to succeed, to live up to expectations, except this time the expectations were his own rather than anyone else’s. There was so much he wanted from this year, so much he knew he was capable of, and that was the most terrifying thing of all. He didn’t want to let himself down. 

Lost in stillness and quiet, thoughts and seconds rushed by. Outside the sun sunk below the horizon, and the garden turned dark, but the lights in the distant house stayed on. When the knock on the shed door finally came, Albus had no idea what time it was. He’d almost forgotten where he was and what he was doing, and he jumped at the sudden sharp sound. 

“Yes?” He called, lifting his head. 

The door creaked open an inch and his dad peered into the room. “Hi,” he said, with a small smile. “It’s me. Do you mind if I come in?”

Albus shook his head and sat up properly – he’d slumped further and further down against the wall while he’d been sitting here. “No, it’s okay. I thought you’d be asleep or something. What time is it?”

“Late enough. I was too busy thinking to sleep. It’s a big day tomorrow.”

Albus nodded and looked down at his hands. “Yeah. It is.”

His dad slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. “How are you feeling?”

Albus shrugged. “I don’t know. Weird? A bit scared. It’s just... odd.”

His dad sat down on a cushion next to him and nodded. “It is a bit. I can’t believe you’ll be 18 this year.”

Albus pulled a face. “Don’t say that. It makes me sound so old.”

Harry snorted. “How do you think I feel every day?”

Albus nudged him and smiled. “I didn’t mean that. I meant... I don’t _feel_ that old. I thought I’d feel like a grown up by now, but I don’t. I have to take my N.E.W.T.s this year and get jobs and stuff, but I don’t feel responsible enough for that. It’s terrifying.” He sighed. “I know you were saving the world when you were my age but you’re not normal.”

“Thanks,” Harry grinned. He ran a hand through his hair and straightened his glasses. “If it helps, I don’t think you ever feel grown up enough for anything. I don’t.”

Albus looked at him. “But you’re Harry Potter. You’re Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and you have like, responsibility and stuff. You’re in charge of everything that Hermione isn’t.”

“True, but I’m terrible at paperwork, my best friend regularly breaks into my office to swap my biscuits for Canary Creams, half the time I’m making everything up as I go along, and my second child is in his last year at Hogwarts and I still haven’t figured out how to be a good dad.” He ticked the list off on his fingers as he talked it through, and Albus stared at him in amazement. 

“That’s not true,” he said. 

Harry considered for a moment. “No, I think it is.”

Albus shook his head and twisted round to face his dad. “It’s not. You’re a really good dad. Probably the best.”

His dad looked at him. “Do you think?”

Albus nodded emphatically. “Yes. You are. You helped me build this place, you’ve put up with me – and the other two – for years, you’ve helped me with my spells, you’re good at listening to problems, and you make the best cakes – better than Draco’s, but please don’t tell him that.”

Harry laughed and stretched his legs out in front of him, smoothing his hands over the creased knees of his jeans. “I’ll try to remember not to mention it to him.”

“You’ve been really good,” Albus repeated, nudging him again. “I promise. Not all the time, but these days.”

Harry’s smile turned to a grim line. “I’m sorry about all the times I wasn’t good,” he said, looking right at Albus. His eyes had dimmed to the same shade of green as a wilty plant, deep and miserable. “I truly am. You deserved better. You’ve always deserved better.”

“It’s okay,” Albus murmured, thinking back to long, cold, dark nights spent out here on his own; all the times he hadn’t felt comfortable in the house; the times it was too loud; the times when he was too different to feel allowed. “I like to think it was character building.”

His dad’s expression twitched into a tiny attempt at a smile, which faded almost as soon as it appeared. “I don’t know what it was like,” he said softly. “Feeling the way you felt. I can’t pretend I do. But I hope you know that I love you, and that I’m proud of you every single day. I’m proud that you’re my son. You’re Albus Severus Potter, and you’re brilliant.” 

Albus leaned against his dad’s side and thought about that. He thought about how you had to be a Potter to open the shed, and even when he didn’t feel like part of the family he’d always been able to do that. He thought about his messy black hair and bright green eyes. He thought about Lily and James – the older versions, his grandparents – and the glint of recognition in his grandma’s eyes when she’d looked at him.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I suppose I am.”

Harry reached out and ruffled Albus’s hair. Albus tried to bat his hand away but missed, so he flopped against his dad’s side and hugged him instead. His dad wrapped an arm round his shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze. 

“When tomorrow comes,“ he said, “you’re going to show it who’s boss. You’ll be ready for it.”

“I hope so,” Albus said softly, allowing himself for the first time to believe that his dad might just be right.

 

“You were,” Scorpius says as Albus finishes talking. “Ready for it.” He gives Albus a light punch on the arm and grins. “Mister overachiever.”

Albus snorts. “Barely. I didn’t get five Outstandings like _some_ people.”

Scorpius waves a hand. “Details details. Compared to an average sample of the population you are an overachiever.”

“That I’ll accept,” Albus says with a grin. “I’ve done okay.”

“And I’m proud of my exceptional boyfriend.” Scorpius squeezes his hand. He falls silent for a moment, gazing at the little wooden structure, nestled between the stone wall that marks the edge of the Potters’ orchard and a gnarled, bowed old apple tree. Harry’s spells have kept the years off. The silver wooden boards look the same as they did the day he restored them. It’s like no time has passed at all since Albus was five years old, but in reality _so much_ time has passed, so much has happened, and nothing is the way it was. 

“Are you going to miss it?” Scorpius murmurs, glancing at Albus. 

Albus nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. 

“It’s meant a lot to you, hasn’t it,” Scorpius says. 

Albus nods again, and this time he doesn’t say anything. recounting everything the shed has been to him over the years, all his memories of it, has ached, but it’s felt good at the same time. And now Scorpius knows everything. He knows the importance of this tiny, insignificant-looking little hut in the orchard. It’s strange that a pile of wood and glass should hold so many memories and emotions, and be a chart of Albus’s whole life to this point, but it does and it is. 

“I hate goodbyes,” Scorpius says quietly. “Even when they’re not mine.”

Albus presses himself against Scorpius’s side and holds tight to his hand. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m okay. No more tears.”

He’s spent the whole last month crying – when they’d left Hogwarts for the last time, when his exam results had come, when he’d packed up his room earlier ready to move to his new house with Scorpius – and he’s going to try not to do anymore. Or at least he’ll save it for saying goodbye to his parents and sister. 

“One day, when we get a proper house, I’ll get you a new shed,” Scorpius says, and Albus glances at him and smiles. 

“Will you?”

Scorpius nods. “Yup. It’ll be better. It’ll have lots of books in it. You won’t miss the one.”

Albus laughs. “You and your books.”

“Books make everything better,” Scorpius says, with a great deal of superiority.

Albus elbows him. “Don’t insult my shed. Or I might decide to stay here and not move in with you.”

Scorpius pouts. “That would be mean.”

“Be nice to my shed then.” Albus lets go of his hand and crosses the overgrown stretch of grass. He runs the tips of his fingers over the silver wood, then presses his palm to the door one final time to open it. It creaks inwards and he steps inside. 

It’s neat and tidy in here, all the blankets folded and the cushions stacked. His plants are growing happily on the window sill, and he’s set up spells to water them when they get dry. They’ll be fine there, waiting for him whenever he visits. There’s nothing else in here that he needs, nothing else to sort out. It’s all ready for him to go. 

He stands in the centre of the space and inhales. The scent of fresh paint and wood chips are long gone. These days it smells of dust, the citrus scent he likes to cast through the room, musty blankets, and cactus flowers. It smells familiar. It smells of home. But of course it’s time to leave home now, and move on to whatever’s next, and while that’s a tiny bit sad, it’s mostly exciting. 

He feels once again like that little boy who was thrilled to discover the unknown, and make himself a space to hide out in, all of his own. It’s going to be good to do that again, this time with Scorpius for company. There’s no point dwelling on the past when the future has so much promise. 

Squaring his shoulders, he turns back towards the door, but as he does he spots the little jar out of the corner of his eye, the one that’s filled with the bluebell flames his dad cast for him when he was so much younger. They’ve burned ever since, and they’re still going. He walks over and uncovers them, letting the soft blue light flood the room. 

For a moment he gazes down at the crackling, dancing flames, then he leans in and blows them out. Instantly the shed goes dark. The colour of the yellow walls seem dull, and all the life has been extinguished. Albus sets the empty jar down on the ground beside his stack of pillows and re-covers it.

“I’ll come back and visit,” he promises to the space at large. “I don’t know when but I will.” He pauses, then, even though he feels stupid, he looks around the space and says: “Thank you.”

And with that he turns towards the future where Scorpius is waiting for him, and he leaves the shed, closing the door behind him. 


End file.
